


When The Sun Sets In Rio

by xeneurotics



Series: When The Sun Sets! Verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Is Confused, Anxiety, BDSM, Bokuroo Make Out Once, But It’s There A Bit, Canon Divergence, Captain centric, Choking, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Getting Together, How Do I Tag This, I feel like this should’ve been written for KinkTober, It’s Just A Journey Of Sexual Self Discovery, Iwaizumi is HOT, Kinda, Kink Psychoanalysis, M/M, Mild Description & Reference to Panic Attacks, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oikawa Tooru Is God, Post-Timeskip, Praise Kink, Psychologist Oikawa, Slow Burn, Smut, but not really, not much angst, oh wait I forgot some, the first one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeneurotics/pseuds/xeneurotics
Summary: “Alright!” says Kuroo, shot glass in hand, far too loudly for half past twelve and far too drunk to be having another shot. “Drink if you feel like you’ve beenpersonally victimisedby Oikawa Tooru this evening.”—Or, 2020 was shit so here’s a holiday fic to lead you into 2021!
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, mentioned! YakuLev
Series: When The Sun Sets! Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065443
Comments: 27
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT’S HERE! Oh God, finally, right?
> 
> I’ve been working on this for half a year, technically more since I started planning it in lockdown already. Lockdown... gee.
> 
> ANYWAYS, big big big thanks to my best friends, Juno, Diana, and Kieran, for keeping me going and letting me talk about this fic with you guys. I’m convinced I wouldn’t be here posting the first chapter right now if it weren’t for you. I love you lots! ♥︎
> 
> To anyone reading this, warning for mention of Oikawa’s grandpa dying? It’s literally only talked about in the first chapter, but if that’ll make you sad then feel free to come back when the second chapter has been posted! Also, nothing in this fic is realistic because I don’t know how life works. Just go with it. Mdhdjsbdnsdnsj.
> 
> Aah. I’m nervous. I hope you guys like it!

Oikawa’s hand is sweaty as his fingers curl around the train pole. 

The ride to Miyagi isn’t that bad, all things considered, and of course, he has Iwaizumi with him to quell his boredom, standing ( _close_ ) strong and comforting and ( _so, so close, and—_ ) dependable beside him, hand on the pole just above his own.

He smells good. He always does, really, it isn’t much of a surprise; not that Oikawa had ever actually made the effort to _tell him_. That would be weird. Too many implications; he doesn’t even want to get into that now. He’s visiting his mother, who’d called him the night before, sniffing and hiccuping like she’d been crying for hours. She had. Oikawa could tell, not just because he’s a psychologist, but because he’s her son. 

Iwaizumi had agreed to accompany him back to Miyagi to visit her — (she had _news_ , apparently, that’s what she’d called it) — and let Oikawa curl up on his bed, trying desperately not to cry while he talked about _literally anything else, Hajime, please_ and Iwaizumi listened intently.

It honestly couldn’t have been that riveting, Oikawa thinks as he looks back on it now with a grimace. He’d talked about his trip to the grocery store while stumbling tragically over the word _cucumber_ , attempting to retain some semblance of composure. 

It didn’t work.

Ordinarily, Iwaizumi would’ve just fixed him with one of his signature deadpan stares that said ‘ _bullshit_ ’ as though it were written on his forehead, but he knew Oikawa well enough to just let him talk. The poor excuse of a distraction wasn’t for Iwaizumi, it was for him. 

“Stop thinking.” Iwaizumi’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. It’s deep, deeper than it was in high school, but he supposes everything about Iwaizumi now is— well, _more_. 

The movement of the train jostles him slightly. “Can’t help it,” he responds lazily. Quietly. “It’s so bad she didn’t even want to tell me over the phone, Iwa-chan, I can't _not_ be worried about it.”

Iwaizumi hums. “We’ll be there soon,” is all he says, looking at him with the softest expression Oikawa has seen on his face in weeks. It’s almost enough to tip him over the edge of a total emotional breakdown. 

“How long?” Oikawa suppresses a yawn, letting his eyes flutter closed and leaning his head on the hand that’s still curled around the pole, just so he doesn’t have to rest against metal. He can feel Iwaizumi’s hand, too. Iwaizumi doesn’t move it. 

Instead, he responds with, “Four stops.” A pause. Then: “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

Oikawa doesn’t dignify his accusation with a response. He only pouts glumly, refuses to open his eyes. He takes in Iwaizumi’s distressed sigh with his ears and lets his mind fill in the gaps.

The train stops.

Then it starts again. 

“I’m nervous, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, his voice a mere whisper. An admission reserved for Iwaizumi only.

“That’s okay,” he replies, simply. He reaches up with his other hand to card his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, a little messy — not that he’d ever say that to Oikawa’s face, he’d probably cry — from the manner in which he’d evidently rushed to get dressed this morning. Oikawa’s shoulders relax a bit, which Iwaizumi takes as a good sign. He continues.

Three stops turn into two, two stops turn into one, and Oikawa has to bite back a whine as Iwaizumi’s hand falls from his hair to nudge him and say, “We’re here, come on.” 

Oikawa groans instead. “Don’t wanna.”

Iwaizumi just grabs him by the shirt and drags him off the train, checks behind him to see if they’d dropped anything (they didn’t even _bring_ anything) and completely tunes out Oikawa’s complaints of “ _hey, what if I didn’t mind the gap, Iwa-chan, it would be all your fault!_ ” in favour of finding the exit and dragging him there too. 

* * *

The air in Miyagi is different from the air in Tokyo.

It’s childhood, it’s memories, it’s pain, and loss, and love. The air in Miyagi reminds Oikawa of Iwaizumi.

“You remember how to get there, right, Iwa-chan?” he quips, looking down at the ground as he walks.

Oikawa doesn't see it, but Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in complete and utter incredulity. “No, Oikawa, I _don’t_ remember how to get to your house, we only grew up together,” he deadpans. “Please, _show me the way_.”

A laugh escapes him before he can catch himself. 

“Well, Iwa-chan, since you asked so nicely…” Oikawa grins even wider as Iwaizumi flicks him on the forehead, and he reaches out to do it back. Iwaizumi lets him.

It’s silent for a while, and somewhere along the route to his place, Oikawa’s eyes have dropped to the ground. Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on his obvious nerves, but changes the topic instead, a brief vision of unruly black hair and glinting eyes springing to memory.

“What did Kuroo want?” he asks, “The other day.”

Oikawa seems surprised that he remembered.

“Oh, Tetsu-chan? You know, the usual,” replies Oikawa in return, and Iwaizumi gives him the side-eye.

“The _usual?_ ”

“Not like that, Iwa-chan!” he protests, almost violently. “He was tired of complaining to Kou-chan about his crush on Kenma because he gives _shit_ advice.”

“Kenma…” Iwaizumi muses. “The setter?”

Oikawa almost laughs. Iwaizumi sees it in his expression, and he’s looking up now, head not turned to him but inclined in a way that seems as though he wants it to be.

“Mh, turned Youtuber,” he confirms. “Kuroo edits his videos for him.”

“Oh, does he?”

“Yeah. He does the brand deals and sponsorship shit, too,” Oikawa rattles on, and Iwaizumi doesn’t mind — if it’s taking his mind off of his mother for the time being then it’s a win in his book. And besides, fifty percent of Oikawa’s personality is _chatter_ , anyways. “Ken-chan hates that kind of stuff.” 

“I got that impression when I met him for the first time,” agrees Iwaizumi, and they turn the corner onto Oikawa’s street.

When Oikawa spies his front door, he almost stops in his tracks. “Oh, _God_ , are we here already?” he complains, some kind of twisted expression on his face, a weird mix of petulance and eerie sadness. 

Oikawa cries _all the time_ , but when it comes to his family it’s a totally different kind of emotion; Iwaizumi knows this, and Oikawa hates that he does, that he knows the side of him that’s so vulnerable and raw — but he’s grateful for it, too. To have someone he can trust as much as he trusts Iwaizumi. He’d trust him with his life. And he supposes that’s kind of a big deal. But maybe it’s just his psychologist brain talking.

They come to a halt.

Oikawa’s door is the same shade of dark brown as it always has been. The only brown door on the street. 

His mother had wanted to paint it once, and Oikawa had downright hated the idea because ‘ _then Iwa-chan wouldn’t be able to find our house!_ ’ So she’d relented, for Iwaizumi’s sake (and for Oikawa’s). 

“Oi. Are you going to knock?” 

Oikawa huffs, but the sound wavers a bit. (Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on it). “Of _course_ I’m going to knock, Iwa-chan!” He rolls his eyes and lifts his hand with overexaggerated bravado, rapping his knuckles against the hard, brown wood. Then he stands back, wrings his hands together and rocks forward, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet in a way that Iwaizumi recognises. 

He’s nervous. Of course he is. He’d said that he was. 

Sometimes, Iwaizumi has to remember that Oikawa _does_ actually get nervous. He’s used to seeing him just charm his way through everything; it’s been that way since high school. Working together (ish) now, being best friends and all, he does get to see sides of Oikawa that nobody knows about (and Oikawa would have his head if they _did_ ), but out of all of Oikawa’s varying emotions, he could probably count the instances of _nervousness_ being one of them on his ten fingers.

Oikawa’s mother answers the door with a smile that Iwaizumi has seen on Oikawa far too many times for his liking— it’s _fake_ , but it’s so, _so_ close to being believable.

She welcomes them in, says _‘oh, Hajime-kun, it’s so nice to see you again_ ’ and Iwaizumi nods, bashful, reading her wish that it were under better circumstances in the tone of voice she uses.

Meanwhile, Oikawa is glancing between her and Iwaizumi, filled with the biggest sense of dread he’s ever experienced. He’s nothing if not self-aware— and knowing himself, he knows his mother. He can’t wait anymore.

“ _Mom_ ,” he urges.

And she halts, inhales steadily. 

Then she sits down at the little table to the side of their living room, head in her hands, and sighs. “Okay,” she says, muffled against her palms. “Okay.”

If Oikawa wasn’t rattled before, he is now. Frowning, he wonders whether or not to move towards her, but his mother would probably start crying if he did, so instead he shifts a little closer to Iwaizumi, who only hesitates for a millisecond before curling his fingers around Oikawa’s arm. It’s not quite a hug, but it’s contact, it’s _something._

“Two nights ago—“ his mother starts, “Well, as you know, your grandpa, my dad, well, he hasn’t been in a very good condition lately. And, uh. Two nights ago, he… yeah, he’s no longer— with us, and—“ She clears her throat. Her voice cracks. 

“Oh,” is the only word Oikawa is able to form coherently, slightly breathless, the syllable lingering on his tongue long after being uttered.

He’s not sad about the man dying (he didn’t really know him well, after all) as much as he is about his mother being absolutely heartbroken over losing her father, and he can see it on her face, she’s trying _so_ hard not to break into tears and he _understands_.

“I knew he, uh,” she sniffs midway, “I knew he’d have to leave us...you know, someday, but— yeah.”

Oikawa doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to _do_.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san,” Iwaizumi offers, a frown on his face. He didn’t really know Oikawa’s grandpa either, but he’d grown up with his mother just as he’d grown up with him. “If there’s _anything_ we can do—“

“It’s really okay, Hajime-kun,” she says, shakily. “Tooru’s father, he’s out shopping for groceries right now, he’s taking very good care of me, so. I’ll be okay, I think. But— the news, I had news.” 

Oikawa gapes. “That _wasn’t_ the news?”

“Well, sort of,” she says, “a prelude to the news, you know?” 

Oikawa laughs, a little too teary-eyed for his liking. “What’s the news, mom?”

She offers him a strained smile. “My sister and I got to talking about his, you know, his money. I don’t know what he did, how he came into all of it but the point is that he had it, and well — he doesn’t, anymore.”

“Oh,” Oikawa repeats himself. “Yeah, he had that, uh, the holiday home, too, I forgot.” He doesn’t really know how to act in these kinds of emotional situations.

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi would be laughing at his verbal distress if he wasn’t equally as saddened by it himself.

His mother nods her head. “My sister and I were talking and— you know, she doesn’t have any kids, she lives alone, good job, she said she wouldn’t really miss it, the money, or need it, and we—“ She pauses. ”Well, we thought we’d give it to you.” 

Silence.

Then, “That’s _bullshit_ , mom.” 

Iwaizumi bristles. “Tooru—“

“Why don’t you just put it towards your pension? You could live the rest of your life worrying about _nothing_ , don’t you want that?”

The woman sighs. “I knew he’d get like this,” she says, more to Iwaizumi than herself. “I don’t _want it_ , Tooru.”

Oikawa frowns. “Why the hell not?”

“ _Language_ , God,” she rolls her eyes, “what’ve you been teaching him up in Tokyo, Hajime-kun?”

Iwaizumi all but snorts. “Don’t look at me, Oikawa-san, you know he does what he wants.”

“ _Hey,_ Iwa-chan!” Oikawa protests.

His mother laughs, before she says, “You’re young, Tooru. I want you to live your life.”

“I _am_ living my life, mom.” 

“I know.” She shrugs. “Blow it all in Vegas if you want, I don’t care. Just, y’know, use it wisely.”

Oikawa frowns, again. “That’s kinda contradictory—“

“ _You know what I mean_.” 

There’s a pause. It’s longer, this time. Oikawa sighs, and finally eases himself out of Iwaizumi’s hold to sit at the table with his mother.

“Mom,” he says, “I just— I’d rather have you live stress-free for the rest of your life than _blow it all in Vegas_ , you know?”

“I know. But that’s my decision, not yours.” She smiles, eyes glinting. “Tell him, Hajime-kun.”

“ _Hey!_ Why are you two always ganging up on me?” Oikawa whines, jutting out his lower lip in a theatrical pout. 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

“Take your friends somewhere,” she continues, simply. “You know that friend of yours, who you said is always complaining about his nonexistent love life—“

Iwaizumi actually laughs, this time. “ _Kuroo?_ ”

Oikawa covers his mouth with his hand, trying to conceal his laughter so as to not break his ‘I’m mad at you’ act. His mother sees right through him, obviously.

“Yeah, that one.” She grins.

“ _This_ is what you talk about during your phone calls?” 

Iwaizumi is still laughing as he speaks, and Oikawa looks over at him from where he’s sitting at the table. He’s always looked good when he laughs, but sometimes Oikawa forgets. He doesn’t do it often enough, really. Iwa-chan is so _grumpy_ all the time.

When he turns back around, his mother is looking at him like she can see into his _soul._

By that, he means that she has an absolutely _shit-eating_ grin on her face.

“What?” he demands.

“Nothing,” she dismisses him with a wave of her hand, “What were we talking about?”

Oikawa is unimpressed. “You’re calling me when we get back home, Mom.”

“Yeah, _yeah_.”

“Kuroo,” Oikawa supplies.

“Mh,” she nods. “There was someone else, too.”

“That’d be Kou-chan,” he replies with a sigh. “The lot of them—hopeless.”

“Kou-chan…” She looks as though she’s wracking her brain, rifling through Oikawa’s friendship circle.

“Bokuto,” says Iwaizumi. “Koutarou.”

“ _Ah_ , MSBY Bokuto Koutarou?”

“The one and only,” Iwaizumi replies, at the same time as Oikawa says ‘ _obviously, mom, we work there_.’ 

“To be honest, Oikawa-san,” says Iwaizumi, again, “The only ones who actually have their shit together are Hinata and Kageyama. It’s all just one big pine-fest from there on out.”

“And _I_ , being an ever-gracious human being,” Oikawa drawls, “have to deal with it.”

“Okay, Tooru,” his mother huffs out a laugh. She looks like she wants to say something. She refrains. Oikawa wants to badger her, but he has a pretty good idea of what it is, already. So, he doesn’t. “Do you want some food? I’ve only got bread for sandwiches and some snacks, but the groceries will be another hour, you know how your father gets planning his meals.”

Iwaizumi nods. “ _This one_ _here_ didn’t eat this morning,” he gestures towards Oikawa with narrowed eyes. “So yes please, Oikawa-san.” 

“Hey!” Oikawa protests, again. “You’re not my _mom_ , Iwa-chan!”

“I might as well be.”

Oikawa huffs. “I already have one of those, thank you very much.”

“With the way you act, you need two.” Iwaizumi’s voice is blunt, and Oikawa can see his mother trying not to laugh behind her hand.

“ _Mom_ ,” he complains. “Every time I bring Iwa-chan here you two always have some sort of wicked agenda against me, it’s not fair! Obviously you guys are just jealous of my intellect, but I can’t blame you—“

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Tooru,” Iwaizumi deadpans. “Go eat.”

Oikawa gasps, scandalised. “Language, _Hajime._ See, maybe you are the bad influence, after all.” 

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. “You’re a brat,” he says.

“I am a renowned psychologist extraordinaire and I am smarter than everyone in this room,” Oikawa counters proudly, sauntering over to where his mother has now made her way towards the kitchen, standing in the doorway.

“Such confidence,” Iwaizumi comments dispassionately. “If only it had any basis.”

“Says _you!_ You yell at people for a living!”

“And _how does that make you feel_ , Oikawa?” he mocks, but before Oikawa can retaliate, his mother pokes her head out from the kitchen with the most hilariously unimpressed look on her face.

“Are you done bickering like an old married couple? I’m gonna make the sandwiches.” She rolls her eyes, and Oikawa glowers, not sparing Iwaizumi a single glance before following his mom into the kitchen.

“So, _anyway_ , mom,” he starts up a conversation so easily it leaves Iwaizumi completely baffled as he files into the kitchen behind him, “Kuroo came knocking at my door the other day.”

“What for? Same thing?”

“Uh-huh. Just _Kenma_ this, and _Kenma_ that, as per usual,” he sits down at the kitchen counter as he continues, “and it turns out what’d prompted it was Kenma getting their laundry mixed up and wearing one of his shirts by accident — and I’m trying to tell him that he...-“

Iwaizumi zones out. Honestly, he’s not sure if it’s because he likes Oikawa’s voice or that he’s just so _boring_ it makes him want to fall asleep. He begrudgingly admits to the former. That and his lack of sleep the previous night.

Oikawa always looks so animated when he’s talking (gossiping, rather), eyes bright and hands everywhere — sometimes he puts on this expression of faux-boredom as he drawls on and on about the inconveniences he has to deal with from people (namely, Bokuto and Kuroo themselves). Iwaizumi knows he wouldn’t trade them for the world, though, _and_ that if they stopped coming to him with their problems he’d probably throw a fit. 

Oikawa always had gotten some kind of kick out of knowing everything about everyone, Iwaizumi thinks.

“..-now I suppose,” Oikawa is _still_ talking (and this definitely does _not_ make Iwaizumi smile), “if i could kill two birds with one stone and just—“

He pauses. Probably for the first time since he started. 

“Mom, what were you saying about—“ 

Another pause.

“You know when you—“

Pause, again.

“No, but that wouldn’t work, that’s too obvious.” He stops, altogether. His mother looks dumbfounded. Iwaizumi is just a little bit lost.

“Tooru, you know you never make any sense to me,” the woman clicks her tongue in disapproval. “I would’ve thought you’d be able to form sentences by now.” 

That’s clearly where he gets his sarcasm from. And again, this does _not_ make Iwaizumi smile.

“But if I—“ Oikawa stops. He stares at the counter like he’s deep in thought and doesn’t want to be interrupted. His mother butters the bread. “Mom, how many rooms did that house have, again?”

“What, the holiday home?”

“Mh.”

“Ten,” she says. “It used to be thirteen but they had it converted into _something_ , it escapes me, honestly. We used to go there every summer. Why?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Mm, nothing, really. It just popped into my head.”

 _You’re so full of shit_ , Iwaizumi wants to say. Oikawa never tells anyone what he’s thinking, and it pisses him off. There’s always _something_ going on with Oikawa, his brain is always working, he’s a deviant, and most people just accept that they can’t keep up with him. They don’t even try. 

For some people, Oikawa just _is_. And it’s as simple as that.

Iwaizumi is not one of those people.

“Alright.” Oikawa’s mother doesn’t press the matter, but Iwaizumi can tell she isn’t entirely convinced either. “Now _eat_ , child. You’re lucky you’ve got Hajime-kun taking such good care of you.”

* * *

“I’ve got an idea, Iwa-chan!” says Oikawa. They’ve just left, and are now walking down to the train station to catch a ride back to Tokyo. 

Iwaizumi sighs. “Oh, _no_.”

“Don’t be mean!” Oikawa grumbles, looking ahead like he’s deep in thought. How he manages to _stay_ deep in thought amidst conversing with him, Iwaizumi does not know. “I’m just working it out in my head first.”

“I could tell,” he says, simply.

Oikawa turns his head to face him, then. He looks surprised. “You could?”

Iwaizumi makes a face. “Who do you take me for, Oikawa? Back there, when you said that shit about the holiday home.”

“Mh,” is all he replies with. Then, “I’ll figure it out.” 

“You always do.”

The ride home is mostly silent. They get seats this time, and Oikawa is tapping away on his phone. As he does. There’s just something so _Tooru_ about Tooru, and maybe that makes no sense, but to Iwaizumi it makes all the sense in the world.

His heart is strangely warm, but he blinks it away as he leans his head back against the glass window. It’s not pleasant, _why does it have to vibrate like that, for the love of God_ —

“You can take a nap at my place,” Oikawa says, without looking up from his screen. Iwaizumi curses him and his peripheral vision in his head.

“Yeah, okay.” Then, as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

Oikawa brightens. “You’re welcome, Iwa-chan!”

“You’re the weirdest,” he says. “How many stops left now?”

“Six.”

Iwaizumi groans. “ _Six_. And what about you? You were so tired earlier, you should probably nap too.”

“Mh,” Oikawa hums, softly. “My mother owes me a phone call. I’ll sleep after.”

“About what?” Iwaizumi frowns, looking at him quizzically. “You just saw her.”

“I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand, Iwa-chan.” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner. Iwaizumi hates it when he does that. But he doesn’t comment on it for now. “It’s all in the eyes, you see. She’s as subtle as anything.” 

Oikawa says it like it’s the universe’s biggest secret. So dramatic.

Iwaizumi fixes him with a stare. “You definitely didn’t get those genes, then.”

“Iwa-chan!” His lips curl just slightly into the tiniest little pout, and Iwaizumi has to roll his eyes in an attempt to stifle the urge to kiss him. And, _god_ , is that the most annoying thing in the world, because Oikawa always looks frustratingly kissable. Emphasis on the ‘ _frustratingly_ ’.

After that, they don’t really talk much. It’s just them and the noise of the train tracks, the bustle of people outside. 

The train gets fuller as they get closer to Tokyo, as it always does, and Iwaizumi has to thank the heavens that they got seats on this ride, not because he’d have a problem standing up for that long (he _does_ train a team of athletes, after all) but because he’d most likely have to stand awfully close to old men who had no concept of personal hygiene, or just _people_ crammed into his general space.

Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind that stuff in the moment, but as soon as he gets off the train he usually wrinkles his nose in disgust and _unloads_ — Iwaizumi is normally stuck with a cacophony of ‘ _oh my god, Iwa-chan, that guy that was standing next to me was so gross…’_ until they get back home, and it’s not that he doesn’t find listening to Oikawa’s incessant rambling amusing, he’d simply prefer to _not_ have the smell of sweat lingering in his nose.

Around thirty minutes after they get off the train and leave the station, they arrive at Oikawa’s place.

It’s nice: not too small, not too spacious — he’s the only one living there anyway. Iwaizumi has been over many times, but that’s only because they’re best friends. Oikawa is just as familiar with his living space, too. 

Oikawa had thought about just moving in at the MSBY apartment complex, but he preferred there to not be a constant mood of impending doom (and by that, he’s 100% referring to surprise visits from Bokuto and Hinata, and Kuroo by extension) when he’s working on something. Iwaizumi understands. He’d taken a leaf out of Oikawa’s book ( _for the first time, ever_ ) and bought his own place as well.

“You can just crash on my bed,” Oikawa gestures vaguely towards his room, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a parent to deal with.”

“You make it sound so arduous,” Iwaizumi comments, taking his jacket off and hanging it up by the door.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head, “Just this conversation in particular.”

Iwaizumi squints. “Alright.”

“Don’t try and listen in, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa calls after him, watching his retreating figure as he makes his way into the bedroom. The door closes.

Oikawa pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials his mother’s number.

It rings twice. She picks up on the third.

 _“So,”_ the woman begins, “ _what was that?”_

“What was _what_ , Mom?” Oikawa sighs, kicking off his shoes and padding into the living room. “Oh, and, Iwa-chan is taking a nap in my room, f-y-i.”

_“I see. You know, I may not be as smart as you are, Tooru—“_

“Aww, thanks mom—“

_“—but, I saw that back there. When did that happen?”_

“When did— nothing happened!” He gapes, like a fish.

_“You know what I’m asking you, stop avoiding it.”_

Oikawa sighs. “Since always, I guess. I don’t know.” He sits down on the sofa and tucks his legs up to his chest. “It’s not like you can pinpoint.”

_“And you didn’t tell me, why?”_

“It’s not that important.” he yawns, shifting to get more comfortable. He wishes he were sleeping right now, too. To be honest, he doubts Iwaizumi is even asleep. 

_“Sure, you might’ve thought that in high-school, but here you are, a fully fledged adult, in love w—“_

“I am not in lo— _mom_!”

He isn’t. He’s not in love with Iwaizumi, he isn’t. Maybe he’s in _like_ with Iwaizumi. 

Gross. Now he sounds like he’s back in high school. Always making the same excuses, _oh, it’s just a crush, I’ll get over it_.

Shit. Maybe he _is_ in love with Iwaizumi.

Maybe he’s been in love with Iwaizumi for a while now.

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “So what if I am?”

 _“Don’t ask me, I’m a married woman, Tooru! What are_ you _gonna do about it?”_

Oikawa sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. He curls even further in on himself. “I’ve got no idea. Even if I did, it probably won’t even work. But what would I even be trying to accomplish, anyway?”

_“I suppose it’s between you confessing to him and— well, making him fall in love with you. Or, you know, both, one after the other.”_

“Yeah.” A pause. “That— made sense, why did that make sense— _god_ , what am I doing?”

_“Stop stressing. I don’t think you’ll need that last one, anyway.”_

“You think?”

_“Mm. But say you were going to do something about it, what would it be? You were thinking about something earlier, too.”_

He hates the fact that his mom can read him just as well as Iwaizumi does. Or the other way round. Maybe both.

“I was—“ He’s strangely unconfident about this ‘plan’, of sorts, and he doesn’t like it. He’s never liked the uncertainty. “It was more for them.”

_“Who’s them?”_

“My friends. I dunno, mom. If I were to do anything with that money it would be ... for them.”

_“And also for you.”_

Oikawa laughs. “Yeah. But, you’ll be okay if I go through with it, right? With dad, here?”

_“Of course I will.”_

“I’m really sorry, mom.” His voice sounds small.

_“Everyone has to die someday, Tooru. We’ve been preparing for it for a long time, you know? And, your father, he’s a good man. He takes care of me well.”_

“Call me if you need anything,” he says, clearing his throat. “And if you can’t reach me, for literally whatever reason, just call Iwa-chan!”

_“He’s nice. Hajime.”_

“Nice?” Oikawa’s laugh is louder this time. “ _Nice_ , mom? He’s not _nice_! He’s a bully, he bullies me, mom, come and save me.” Whining dramatically, he ends up falling on his side, and he shifts a little, putting a pillow underneath his head.

His mother’s chuckle makes him smile. He can’t imagine not hearing that sound ever again.

 _“Just use your big psychologist brain,”_ she offers, “ _you’ll figure it out.”_

Oikawa’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah,” he says, yawning once more. “I always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UHMMGMMDNDXB.
> 
> If you like it so far, please come yell at me on twitter or tumblr, and— I have a tiktok? I don’t really post much but I’m always on there.
> 
> You can find everything in my linktree!
> 
> Please leave comments! They’re my lifeline :(
> 
> See ya next time!
> 
> — maeve ✿


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaah! thank you so much for the support on the first chapter, i’m so so so glad you guys liked it!!! you really made my christmas break tbh!
> 
> anywho, it is going to become cripplingly apparent that i, as i forewarned, do not know how anything in the world works. go with it. go with the flowwww, this is how the world works now because i say so. :p
> 
> anything is possible...
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter!!

“Did you know,” Oikawa says, popping a grape into his mouth, a week later, “that Karasuno’s middle blocker has a tattoo parlour?”

They’re in Iwaizumi’s house this time. Oikawa’s been acting a little strange all week, a little more stressed, a little more antsy. And all these things aren’t uncommon for him, but Iwaizumi can tell that it’s not work-related. Because Oikawa always _told him_ if it was work-related.

“Which one?” Iwaizumi asks, sitting down on the sofa next to him and looking over at his phone. He’s on some kind of website. The tattoos look good, and he doesn’t particularly spend his free time looking at tattoos, but even he can tell they're incredibly professional. 

Scrolling a bit further, Oikawa answers, “The one with the glasses.”

“Tsukishima?”

“Mh. And his friend, green-haired, hold on, it should be down here…” He scrolls all the way down to the bottom of the screen. “Ah! Yes. Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“I can see Yamaguchi as the creative type, but I never figured Tsukishima would be any good at art.”

“Well, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grins. “It says here that he’s actually the piercer.”

“Right.” Honestly, all he’s thinking right now is _what the fuck_. “You got any other random facts to throw at me today or is that all I get?”

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa elbows him lightly against his ribs. “Don’t be so grumpy, Iwa-chan! You can’t rush the process.”

“The _process_ ,” he parrots, dryly. 

Oikawa nods, beaming, and Iwaizumi can only sigh with lamentation. He’s got no idea what he’s planning, and he mostly never does until he’s actually doing it. Which is annoying in itself, but what’s even more annoying is that it feels like he’s dangling it right in front of his face and Iwaizumi just _doesn’t understand._

Oikawa likes playing mind games. 

Perhaps he got into psychology just to fuck with people better; Iwaizumi wouldn’t put it past him.

He gets the same shit for the next few days, and _hey, Iwa-chan, did you know—_ is practically ringing in his ears, but at least now he knows about florist Sugawara Koushi and those looks makeup artist Yachi Hitoka did based on his flower arrangements, that’s _great_ , right? It isn’t that he minds seeing where old acquaintances are now, it’s the matter of _why_. Oikawa’s taunting him with it, _why, why, why— why are you telling me this?_

Usually, he wouldn’t be so invested in this stuff. Iwaizumi is typically the one person who remains unfazed while the others gaze upon Oikawa’s smug face in awe, but this feels different, somehow. Even for Oikawa.

“Alright, what the fuck is going on?” he demands on Friday, after Oikawa finishes his sentence about _Azumane Asahi, one of the biggest fashion designers in Japan and I didn’t even know about it, Iwa-chan, how ridiculous!_

Oikawa raises a calm eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Iwaizumi squints. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?” He briefly darts his eyes down to the broccoli that’s about to burn in Oikawa’s pan. “You’ve been telling me random crap like this for five days straight. It’s not that I don’t _care_ , I just find it odd how you've suddenly taken such an _interest_ in them. You’re acting weird.”

“That’s an awful lot of attention you’ve been paying, Hajime,” he says back, grinning as he tosses the slightly-too-charred broccoli and turns the heat off.

“I’m your best friend, I’m _supposed_ to pay attention. Especially when you’re acting like you’re plotting the end of the world or some crap.” 

Oikawa laughs, loud and unabashed. “I’m honoured that you think I’m capable of ending the world, Iwa-chan, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me! I guess you do acknowledge my superior intellect, after all~”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not _plotting_ , anyway,” he says, sounding far too happy for Iwaizumi’s liking, “Help me dish up this food.”

Iwaizumi fixes him with a flat stare, and Oikawa huffs, crossing his arms over his chest in an indignant manner. He really does act like he’s still eleven and they’re planning to trade pokemon cards at lunchtime; maybe no one has a charizard to trade for his _super awesome_ butterfree.

Iwaizumi would definitely _not_ tell him that butterfree was hardly that good of a pokemon this time — he’d already made that mistake once.

“ _Please?_ ” Oikawa drags on the word for what seems like an eternity. “Do you want me to do the puppy dog face too, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m gonna end up strangling you one day, I swear to god. Here’s your fucking broccoli.”

* * *

It’s coming to the end of May, now. The spring blossoms are all gone, replaced with ever-increasing summer heat. 

Oikawa thinks the blossoms are pretty, and he’s accumulated quite a few selfies with the trees in the background to show for it. He sorted them into an album, too, labelled only with a cute pink flower emoji. Iwaizumi had laughed at that, told him it looked out of place right next to the folder named ‘ _blackmail for tobio-chan_ ’; Oikawa had to fight his smile as he whined.

MSBY don’t technically _need actual sessions with him_ that often, apart from the monthly evaluations, but most days he’ll sit in on practices and see how they’re doing, pick up on the fact that Bokuto doesn’t extend his arm far enough or something and Iwaizumi will say it’s because he trained him a little harder last week. The great thing is, his best friend is actually also a qualified massage therapist ( _I know_ ), so he’ll fix it most times within around five days, update his stretching routine, and be done with it.

Iwaizumi usually meets him there, but sometimes they’ll pick each other up and go together. This isn’t one of those days.

The training center is big.

Bokuto’s exuberant shout of “ _Oikawa!_ ” echoes off the walls as he walks in, and Oikawa grins, giving him a wave. Bokuto had once told him it was kinda weird having one of your best friends as your therapist — Oikawa had wrinkled his nose and said ‘I’m not your _therapist_ ,’ with resounding disgust, then continued on with, ‘I am a psychologist, first of all, and I ever-so-considerately use my intellectual prowess to aid my friends (that’s you) in their rise to athletic stardom!”

Bokuto had liked that better.

“Good morning to you too, Kou-chan!” says Oikawa, holding up his two fingers in a peace sign greeting to the others before he sits down at the back of the room. “Iwa-chan here yet?”

“He’s with Ennoshita-san in the other room talking schedules and stuff,” Hinata answers with a shrug.

“Mh, I see,” he muses, standing up again but leaving his bag there on the floor. “And the coach?”

“With ‘em,” says Atsumu, gesturing towards the room in question.

Oikawa scrunches up his face. “Damn,” he says, “I was hoping I could get him alone. I’ll have to wait.” Sighing, he sits back down and pulls his phone out from his pocket. He might as well get the calls done first if he’s got time to kill while waiting for the coach.

“Who, Iwaizumi-san?” Hinata tilts his head. “Don’t you live together?”

“Wh— _no,_ the coach.”

“Oh. I just assumed, cause you’re—“

That’s when he spies Iwaizumi standing in the doorway, Ennoshita and the coach behind him. “Cause we’re what?” Iwaizumi says, curiously, and Oikawa swears he _could_ actually harbour some murderous intent towards Hinata Shouyou after all.

“ _Best friends_ , Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cuts in, holding up another casual peace sign. He knows Iwaizumi doesn’t buy it. He never does, but Oikawa effectively shifts the focus as his gaze settles on the man behind him, “Oh, coach. Can I have a word?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, but we’re starting in ten,” the man grunts, and Oikawa nods in understanding.

“I won’t be long,” he promises. With that, he lifts himself up off the floor ( _again_ ) and follows him into the room.

There’s a table, four chairs out but maybe five or so stacked up against the back wall. It’s decently sized. There’s a TV on a wooden shelf-like block; Oikawa guesses its sole purpose is for meetings and such.

He perches himself on the corner of the table, and begins with a, “So, this is purely hypothetical—“, to which the coach rolls his eyes.

“Right.”

“Say Kou-chan, or anyone, really, wanted to go on a three week holiday—“

“Awfully specific, Oikawa.”

“ _Anyway_ , since game season is over now, he’d be able to go, yes?”

“As long as he’s training, then yeah,” says the coach, eyeing him curiously. “Anything over two weeks without training isn’t really advisable, but if we’re talking about our guys specifically then they’d probably never stop training, even without being able to play volleyball.”

“Mhmm, and what if—“ Oikawa clears his throat, “what if their trainer were to go… _with_ them…”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Stop fucking around, we’ve got five minutes.”

“Okay. Alright, well, long story short, my grandpa died, and my mother’s just told me to, like, _blow all the money in Vegas or something,_ that’s literally what she said, I know, anyway, I was thinking of just..-“

The coach’s face remains completely indifferent throughout his entire speech. It’s quite Iwaizumi-like, actually.

Even as he’s speaking, he can’t help but chuckle internally at how familiar he is with the man’s expression, but he wraps it up nonetheless with, “-...and I wanted to make sure I _could_ , first, before I proceeded with anything else. So, yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“Okay,” is all he says. “Do what you want, Oikawa. I trust you, and I trust Iwaizumi. Game season is over, after all.”

Oikawa beams. “Thanks, coach!” He feels completely and utterly elated, until he remembers there’s still _so much_ he has to do. “Ah— we should get back.”

The coach just nods, turns on his heel and walks right out of the room, Oikawa in tow, and perhaps he has a bit of a spring in his step because Iwaizumi squints at him as soon as he’s within eyeshot.

“You look way too happy,” he comments gruffly, over the sound of the coach yelling, _“okay, warm-ups, you lot!”_.

“I _am_ happy, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa grins. He rocks a little forward onto the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back innocently. “I’ve got some calls to make, but do you wanna get takeout at mine later?”

“Alright,” he says back with a shrug, albeit still eyeing him suspiciously.

Oikawa all but skips over to his spot at the back of the court. The hard work starts now. But it’s going to be fun, he thinks, it will be. 

He quite likes playing detective from time to time, and as it stands, he’s a rather efficient multitasker, which makes it easy for him to do this while he’s working — his phone is in his hand now, scrolling as quickly as he can to the bottom of the website until he reaches the phone number listed beneath their names. 

He clicks on it.

Then, he presses the phone to his ear, and he waits. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Fo— “ _Hello? How can I help you?”_

“Ah! May I speak to the owners?” says Oikawa, watching Sakusa stretch his wrists back, as he always does. Atsumu stares at him every time, marvelling at how flexible they are. He tries to do it himself sometimes too, but ultimately fails.

_“Yeah, this is he, who are you?”_

Oikawa figures Tsukishima would’ve probably insulted him by now. “Yamaguchi? I’m just calling to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”

_“Huh? That’s what policemen say, right? Are we in some kind of trouble? I promise we haven’t done anything bad, we’re literally just doing tattoos here—“_

“No! No, no, nothing bad,” he rushes to quel Yamaguchi’s nervousness, crossing his legs as he feels the numbness in the one he’s currently sitting on, “I’m a psychologist. I’m conducting a research paper, so it’s really nothing serious, I just wanted to ask you about your working hours, holidays, stuff like that.”

_“Ohhh, alright then! That’s cool! What’s your name?”_

“Ah—“ Shit, he should’ve seen that one coming. He panics. “I don’t really like to say. If that’s okay with you. Feel free to hang up if it’s a bother, I’ll find someone else to assist in my contributions to the vast world of knowledge~”

It was a risk, telling him he could hang up. Oikawa knows this, but he took a chance on the fact that Yamaguchi would most likely be reassured that he had the power in this situation.

_“Oh, that’s… fine, I guess. What did you wanna know?”_

Phew. “Mm, well. How are your shifts, how many hours do you work a day? We’ll start with that.”

Oikawa hopes he won’t catch on to the fact that he’s literally improvising.

_“Uhh, well, it’s about eight hours on average, I’d say?”_

“Uh huh, okay, how many days a week?”

_“Six, Fridays and Saturdays are usually the busiest for us, so we only get Sundays off.”_

“I see, I see, and do you have time that you can take off for vacations and such?”

_“Well, everyone does, right? I’ve only had three days off this year, so I’ve got, uh … around thirty days, I think.”_

“Mhm, and Tsukishima-san? The other owner, right?”

_“Ah, yeah, he’s got more than me, he never gets sick. We like to take as little off as possible in the first half of the year so we’ve got more for summer and Christmas.”_

“Alright, thank you.” Oikawa sees Hinata stretching. He’s doing it wrong. “He-e- _ey_! Keep your leg straight!” he calls, and hears Yamaguchi shriek against his ear. He curses silently. “My apologies, I’m currently working—“

_“Didn’t you say you were a psychologist?”_

“Mh? I am! Anyway, this is the last question, so answer well~” 

_“...Okay?”_

“When you take time off for holidays, is your business ever impacted in any way by you not being there?”

_“Hm? Oh, definitely not, everyone working here is immensely talented! They absolutely could run the business by themselves, one hundred percent!”_

“That’s good to hear!” Oikawa chuckles, rolling his shoulders back. His right one clicks painfully. It’s been bothering him for weeks now, but he hasn’t had the time to go get it checked out. “Thank you so much for your help, Yamaguchi-san~” 

_“Oh! It’s really no problem. Is that everything, sir?”_

“Yes, quite, thank you once again for this,” he says, cheerfully, “Byebye, now!”

_“Bye!”_

At the sound of the beep, Oikawa heaves a satisfied sigh.

It isn’t like he was planning to include the entirety of Karasuno when he started (if he were to tell his younger self that he’s doing this now, he’d probably call him crazy) but he needs enough people for it to work and Mattsun and Makki already texted him the other day to say they’re visiting their parents for the _whole of summer._ It just so happens that they’re the next best thing. 

Besides, thinks Oikawa, Hinata and Ennoshita have been talking about a reunion for over a year.

Now, that’s two down, at least. He puts his phone back in his pocket. 

He could call Kuroo tonight, which settles Kenma and that model friend of his, and he could ask Bokuto about Akaashi. Kageyama and Ushijima are a given, since game season is over for them, too, so he doesn’t need to worry at all about that, but he’s killing a _lot_ of birds with a single stone here with this Karasuno reunion shit. Which means, aside from Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, there are still a few people that he hasn’t accounted for. 

He’ll have to ask Hinata.

And Oikawa is _not_ still bitter about nationals.

No way in hell. Nope. Definitely not.

* * *

“Shou-chan!” Oikawa calls, just as they’re heading out. 

It’s around six in the evening, and Iwaizumi is finishing some stuff up with the coach inside, so Oikawa has around ten minutes to spare before he gets out. The sky’s getting a little dark, but there’s not much of a breeze. It’s getting closer to summer; Oikawa likes it. 

Hinata turns around with a surprised look on his face. “Hey, Oikawa!” He grins. “What’s up?” 

“I wanted to ask you about a few of your friends,” says Oikawa. There’s a pause. “That sounds a bit creepy, but we’ll roll with it, hm?”

Hinata’s eyebrows hit the roof, but he agrees nonetheless. “I mean, sure! If you’re asking me, it’s gotta be important, right?”

“Naturally,” he drawls, propping a hand on his hip and sticking his nose up slightly in the air. “I was wondering about your Karasuno teammates.”

“Oh! I keep in touch with most of them! We really should have a reunion soon, I really miss hanging out together as a group… but we saw each other at Tanaka and Kiyoko’s wedding! That was awesome!” Hinata gushes, leaning forward excitedly.

“Kiyoko, the manager, right?”

“Mhm! And Yachi!”

“Yachi… Hitoka? Makeup artist now.”

“Yeah! How did you know?” Hinata asks, tilting his head. Oikawa only smiles at him, reaches down to ruffle his hair. He’s grown a lot since he was a teen, but Oikawa is still taller than him.

“I’ve been looking into it,” is all he says. “I called Tsukishima and Yamaguchi earlier, but I need to know about the others, how their schedules are.”

“You..” Hinata pauses, and squints at him. “You _called them_?”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and then all of a sudden Hinata’s laughing, clutching his stomach and giggling like Oikawa’s told the funniest joke known to man. Oikawa wants to be mad at him but doesn’t everyone— doesn’t everyone wish they _could_ be mad at Hinata Shouyou? 

“Yamaguchi— He texted me earlier—“ says the redhead, through his laughter. “He said some weirdo psychologist called him for his research paper and he had to answer a bunch of questions, that was _you_ , wasn't it?” 

_Oh my god._ “Uhm...guilty?” Oikawa grimaces, and looks over his shoulder to check for any signs of Iwaizumi.

“I can’t—“ Hinata’s giggling again, hand covering his mouth and eyes crinkled adorably. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Ah, don’t embarrass me, Shou-chan!” Oikawa pouts. “But I haven’t got much time, Iwa-chan will be here in two minutes.”

“I’ll just message you later,” he says, head tilting a little again. “We _do_ talk on the phone, you know.”

“I know! I’m just having a takeout night with Iwa-chan tonight, you see~”

“Oh!” Hinata nods in understanding. Then, he wrings his hands together, shifts nervously from foot to foot like he’d just stolen a candy bar and got caught. Oikawa narrows his eyes at the motion.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry for— you know, earlier, I just assumed you two were—“

“Oh, that,” Oikawa waves him away. “Don’t worry.”

“But,” Hinata continues, quietly. “You do like him, though, don’t you?”

Silence.

It’s rare for anyone to render someone as talkative as Oikawa Tooru speechless, but this stupid, loveable readhead who jumps really high has managed to do just that in a single sentence alone. 

Damn him, really. 

Oikawa is at a total loss for words.

“I’m sorry!” Hinata apologises profusely, guilt seeping rapidly into his expression. “I didn’t mean to pry, I was just asking, don’t hate me!”

“Ah—“ He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks a little flushed with embarrassment. “Like I said, don’t worry about it, really. Just, you know, get back to me about the—“

“Oh, hi Iwaizumi-san!” Hinata cuts him off. Oikawa is grateful that he did, and whips his head around at lightning speed to come face to face with Iwaizumi himself. Speak of the devil, as they say.

He’s surprised that Hinata picked up on it, but at the same time he really isn’t. After all, he begrudgingly admits that Iwaizumi and Kageyama are a little alike in some ways, so it goes without saying, really, that Hinata would know what it looks like to crush on people like them. 

The only difference is, Hinata is actually _dating_ Kageyama, and Oikawa is— what, pining hopelessly? And after what, over five years? _God, he’s a mess._

“Hey. What’s with _that_ face, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi grunts, squinting his eyes as though he’s studying him closely. Oikawa is a little too tired to put on a front, but soon enough, Iwaizumi turns his attention back to Hinata, who’s still standing there with an expectant look on his face. “Oh, were you guys not done talking?”

“Mm? It’s just,” Hinata pauses, and addresses Oikawa instead, “you look like you want to ask me something else, Oikawa-san.”

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, _how the fuck did you get your boyfriend to like you?_

No, he phrased that wrong.

It wasn’t as if anyone could _not_ like Hinata— he’s pretty sure that even Iwaizumi, who’s shown little to no romantic interest in _literally anyone_ , could like Hinata. It really came as no surprise that Kageyama fell for his charm.

But Oikawa, he’s different. He’s not much like Hinata Shouyou at all.

Is that the problem?

Oikawa ends up answering him with some kind of strangled noise, flourishing his hand about and making an effort to fix his gaze anywhere _but_ the redhead’s eyes. “Later,” he croaks, and Oikawa only catches Hinata’s sympathetic glance in his peripheral vision but soon enough he’s giving them both a wave and bounding off to go join Bokuto and Atsumu, who are waiting for him down the road.

They’re alone.

The wind is picking up a little. Oikawa doesn’t really know whether to move or stay still, but Iwaizumi is staring at him with a puzzled expression, as though he can’t quite figure out what to say. 

After a minute too long of silence, he goes with, “I haven’t seen you look like that for a while.”

Oikawa huffs out a laugh, a measly breath through his nose that’s barely audible. “Like what, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi ignores him. “Were you talking about your mom?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Just stuff,” he says, looking out onto the street. “Now come on, Iwa-chan, I’m hungry.”

They start walking. “What do you want for dinner?” Iwaizumi asks, and Oikawa smiles a little.

“I should be asking you that,” he says. “You’re the guest, after all.”

He _hates_ that.

“Fuck off, Tooru. I’m not a _guest_.” It’s violent. Iwaizumi almost spits the words out, as if they were foul.

This time, Oikawa grins, shoving his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

It might be a bit strange, how much it excites him to rile Iwaizumi up like this; he’s been doing it since they were kids, but as they got older it became different, in a way. For him, at least. 

When he was ten, he did it because _‘Iwa-chan’s face is all funny and he gets all mad, like grrrr!’_. He’d steal Iwaizumi’s red colouring pencil, or he’d draw a haphazard imitation of godzilla with Iwaizumi’s face on it. When he was ten, this was the pinnacle of comedy as Oikawa knew it.

When he was fourteen, he was doing it out of habit. He was doing it because that’s how they worked, that’s how they’d always been. 

Oikawa supposes he’d found a certain comfort in the fact that no matter how mad Iwaizumi actually was at him, he still wanted to be his friend. That’s just how he was; strong, reliable.

Always.

But now, it’s not the same as it was before. Now, he’s an adult, and Iwaizumi is too. Oikawa isn’t taller than him anymore; Iwaizumi is bigger, more muscular than he used to be, his voice is deeper, his hair’s a little longer— Oikawa purposely avoids going to the gym on the same days Iwaizumi does. He likes to think of himself somewhat as a _master of disguise_ , but not even he has that much self-control.

See, Iwaizumi was hot back when Oikawa started to develop feelings for him, but he’s even hotter now, and to be honest, it’s absolute hell on earth because he’s hot _all the time_.

And he’s _especially_ hot when he’s mad.

It’s a much different thrill running down Oikawa’s spine now than when he was a kid, that’s for sure. 

They round the corner, venturing past the supermarket, where Oikawa’s building is finally in view. His stomach grumbles, lips twisting into a sullen pout. He’d been so busy today that he hadn’t eaten a lot, and Iwaizumi usually scolds him for stuff like that but he’s pretty silent now, as they walk, the light evening breeze tousling his hair a little. Oikawa assumes it’s because he knows the extortionate amounts of unhealthy food he’s going to be consuming tonight will make up for it. 

He’s right.

“Pizza, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa, softly, finally turning his head to look at him. “I want pizza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pizza! :p
> 
> i hope you somewhat liked this cnsbdkdn there wasn’t an awful lot to like & it’s funny because i’m currently writing chapter seventeen and thinking about how sweet and... normal this part is,, is kind of hilarious. pls stick with me hehe.
> 
> comments are my lifeline!! tell me what you liked about it pretty pls! school is starting and i am absolutely not ready.
> 
> follow me on twitter and tumblr to keep up with,, um,, my shenanigans. if you want! i’m a nice person, really! i hope.
> 
> anyways, until next time!
> 
> — maeve ✿


	3. Chapter 3

Kuroo Tetsurou is, by all accounts, _not_ an amiable man in the morning. 

His head hurts, and so do his legs, probably due to the fact that it was his first day back at the gym yesterday after a solid month of working a series of photoshoots with this Chinese company that were _incredibly_ difficult to negotiate with. Kenma had told him on multiple occasions that it wasn’t worth it, but it was kind of a big deal to Kuroo.

See, being a gamer (and the owner of one of the most successful youtube channels in Japan), Kenma doesn’t mind being in front of a camera. 

What he does mind is _modelling_ in front of a camera.

But Kuroo thinks Kenma looks good when he’s confident, even if he’s trying his best to fake it the entire time. Kenma disagrees. Adamantly. 

“Coffee?” says Kenma, and Kuroo almost jumps at the sound of his voice so close behind him. He does it often, scaring him like this, because Kuroo never hears the padding of Kenma’s socked feet against their wooden floor unless he concentrates hard enough on finding the sound, and Kenma (for some reason) takes great delight in creeping up on him, especially in the morning.

“Sure,” Kuroo replies, following him into the kitchen. He leans against the counter so he can stretch his legs a little more and Kenma gives him a sharp glance, flicking the kettle on with his index finger. “By the way, I’m gonna swing by the apartment to hang with Bo and Hinata later, wanna come?”

Kenma hums thoughtfully for a few seconds before he shakes his head. “As much as I want to see Shouyou again, I’m quite busy tonight.”

“With what?” Kuroo frowns. “I know your schedule.”

“It’s not work.”

“So… it’s personal, then?” he says, slowly.

“That would be the opposite of work, yes,” Kenma responds to him curtly, just audible over the sound of the boiling water.

Kuroo narrows his eyes. “You have a date?”

There’s a slight pause, wherein Kenma moves to lift the kettle up and pour the water into his mug, brows furrowed a little with clear concentration. He always puts far too much effort into small things like this. Kuroo finds it to be quite endearing, just as he would right now if not for the rapid sinking of his heart— a _date_ , thinks Kuroo, Kenma never goes on dates, Kenma _despises_ dates, sitting in front of someone he barely knows in a place he barely knows trying to speak over the stifling air of crippling awkwardness, that’s never been Kenma’s thing. At all.

“No,” he replies. “I don’t do dates, Kuroo.”

Oh. Still not Kenma’s thing, then, he notes.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“Have you always been this curious in the morning, Kuroo, or am I just not interesting enough on regular days?” says Kenma, blandly. Kuroo has half a mind to laugh; he already feels the sound bubbling in his throat.

“C’mon, kitty cat,” he grins, walking over to the refrigerator and handing Kenma the milk instead, “It’s too early to be mean to your _wonderful_ best friend.”

Kenma arches an eyebrow, but he says nothing as he pours the milk, stirring it slowly, the spoon held carefully between his thumb and middle finger in his usual delicate manner. Then, “You’re annoying.”

“You love me.” Kuroo takes the coffee with a broad grin. Kenma’s expression is pure indifference.

“Mm.” He gives a noncommittal hum in response, and turns his back to Kuroo so he can put the milk in the fridge again, placing the spoon in the sink and covering his mouth as he yawns quietly. “When are you leaving?”

“Whenever.” Kuroo shrugs, crossing one leg over the other. He sips his coffee. It’s scalding.

“Kay,” is all Kenma replies with, and soon enough he’s back in his room, door closing softly behind him, leaving Kuroo standing in the kitchen with only the warmth of his coffee and his own thoughts. Still, he wonders what the deal is with Kenma, anyway. Kenma _never_ keeps stuff from him, but this seems to be an exception.

He’ll find out later.

To be honest, his tongue sort of burns from the coffee, all fuzzy and weird, and he leans forward to stretch his legs out again — it’s painful, but he figures once he gets back into his usual gym routine it’ll be fine. Bokuto had said he could come over any time he wanted. Kuroo’s only planning to go at around five in the evening, although Bokuto usually wants food so he’ll drop by the Chinese place down the road before he makes his way there. His coffee is slightly colder now. 

Since it’s nearing midday, Kuroo decides he’ll finish the coffee and then shower. Getting changed won’t take long; he’ll make Kenma lunch and then see if he wants to livestream for a bit. 

All of Kenma’s viewers lap up details of his personal life like milk— there were a lot of tweets about Kuroo himself for about a week back in February, in fact. It’s the most fame he’s ever gotten. Nevertheless, he likes doing the livestream thing, likes to watch Kenma talk to his viewers a little bit, even if he does have to tone down his “heart-eyes”. Well, that’s what Oikawa had called them three weeks ago, anyway.

Kuroo guesses he might’ve been right.

* * *

While Bokuto and Hinata are loud on regular days, Kuroo has come to notice that they’re especially loud while watching movies. So loud, in fact, that he can’t actually follow what’s happening on-screen due to them talking about the last five minutes of it like they have to write an essay at the end, or something of the like, anyway.

It’s around 8PM. The sky’s just about completely dark, and they’d finished all of their chinese food an hour prior. Which Kuroo had brought, by the way. The apartment is nice, spacious enough — Bokuto does live alone here, even though his teammates are just doors away. Hinata comes over often, though, with frequent complaints that ‘ _atsumu-san is really loud…_ ’, expression harbouring both guilt and amusement; it didn’t take long for Bokuto to catch onto what he meant the first time. Kuroo, however, finds it _absolutely hilarious_ whenever Bokuto tells him that Hinata had to creep into his apartment at 1:30 and crash on the sofa, _again_. He wonders if Atsumu ever really gets tired of anything besides his twin. 

“Bo,” he says, shoving him lightly in the side. He’s decided that there’s no hope trying to follow the movie anymore; they’d just leave Hinata to put the pieces of the plot together. He looks like he’s quite enjoying himself. “Do you have practice tomorrow?”

Bokuto turns his head to look at him, blinking once before he answers with a shake of his head. “Nah, game season’s just over for us. Practice eases up, but Iwaizumi always trains us hard so,” Bokuto shrugs, “I guess that’s why coach is so lenient with practice when game season ends, ‘cause we’re always working our butts off either way.”

“Damn,” muses Kuroo. Then, “Where’d you learn a word like _lenient_ , anyway?”

Bokuto rolls his eyes, grinning from ear to ear. “Akaashi,” he says, tone slightly giddy. “That means I used it right, didn’t I?”

 _Ah_ , Akaashi. 

Since high school, it’s all Kuroo’s been hearing about— granted, he’s not much better with Kenma either— but he supposes one of the only upsides of it is that over the years Bokuto has somehow managed to improve his vocabulary. Kuroo is convinced, too, that he’s got some kind of inventory of words he uses to describe Akaashi, and Akaashi only. It’s sweet, kind of.

“I think so,” Kuroo answers, deliberating, “but he’s the writer. I’d ask him, just to make sure.”

Clearly, that’s _exactly_ what he wanted to hear, because Bokuto’s expression lights up immediately. “Yeah! Okay,” he says, “I’ll do that.”

A fond smile tugs at Kuroo’s lips before he yawns, lifting his legs up off the ground to stretch them once more. Had he really been away from the gym for that long? Probably. It does get busy sometimes, with Kenma. He technically works for him. Technically.

It’d sound far more risqué if he were to tell people _hi_ _I’m Kuroo and I’m in love with my boss_ , ‘childhood-friend’ thing notwithstanding, obviously. 

Kuroo likes to think of it as working _with_ him, instead.

“Tetsu.” 

Bokuto’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?” Kuroo inclines his head a little, but Bokuto doesn’t look at him. He seems more interested in his phone, squinting at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t seem to figure out. Either that, or he just can't see.

“Check your phone,” he says, fingers moving now, gliding expertly across the screen.

So, Kuroo does.

**Group (6)**

**Oikawa Tooru has added Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou, Sawamura Daichi, and Ushijima Wakatoshi to the group.**

**Oikawa:** ya-hoo, captain-chans!! (⌒▽⌒)☆

 **Kuroo:** oh, _no._

 **Oikawa:** don’t be mean, Tetsu-chan!!!!!

 **Oikawa:** you’ll retract that statement later~

 **Bokuto:** What’s up!

 **Kuroo:** this smells like a disaster waiting to happen

 **Kuroo:** we’ve been friends for _how many years?_ and we’ve NEVER made a group chat

 **Oikawa:** no time like the present~

 **Daichi:** uh

 **Oikawa:** Dai-chan!!!! long time no see!

 **Daichi:** Hey, Oikawa

 **Daichi:** It actually hasn’t been that long— 

**Oikawa:** semantics~ 

**Kuroo:** what are u plotting this time 

**Daichi** : _this time????_

 **Bokuto:** u have no idea… 

**Ushijima:** Hello?

 **Oikawa** : HI!!!

 **Ushijima:** Hi, Oikawa.

 **Ushijima:** What’s this for?

 **Oikawa:** ahem

 **Oikawa:** I have a proposal!!!

 **Kuroo:** no he doesn’t ok everyone pack up go home

 **Daichi:** Sounds good to me

 **Bokuto:** …Ditto

 **Oikawa:** SHHHHH!!!!

 **Oikawa:** let me finish!!!!! (＃＞＜)

 **Kuroo:** oikawa’s sole personality trait is using way too many exclamation marks and that god awful ‘~’

 **Bokuto:** And the emojis

 **Oikawa:** HUSH! you love my emojis, Kou-chan!!

 **Oikawa** : ANYWAY

 **Oikawa:** so, I recently came into a lot of money 

**Kuroo:**...good for u????

 **Ushijima:** That was the so-called ‘proposal’?

 **Oikawa:** I’M NOT DONE!!!

 **Oikawa:** you’re all so impatient!!! 

**Bokuto:**...

 **Oikawa:** aaaaand, I was thinking

 **Kuroo:** why

 **Oikawa:** you guys should come on holiday with me!!!!

 **Oikawa:** if I were you, I’d consider it a privilege to travel alongside someone of my calibre~~ 

**Bokuto:** …

 **Daichi:** …

 **Ushijima:** …

 **Kuroo:** sorry but

 **Kuroo:** say u _did_ magically get rich

 **Kuroo:** why is ur first instinct to... take us on holiday???????

 **Daichi:** Do I really look as depressed as I feel...

 **Oikawa:** WHAT

 **Oikawa:** why is it so hard to accept that I can be nice?!

 **Ushijima:** …

 **Oikawa:** I wasn’t asking u!!!!!!!

 **Bokuto:** …

 **Kuroo:** what are your motives

 **Oikawa:** MOTIVES? how dare u Tetsu-chan!!

 **Kuroo:** …wait

 **Kuroo:** who _else_ are you planning to take on this “holiday’?

 **Oikawa:** …

 **Bokuto:** HMMM I could think of one person… 

**Oikawa:** it was actually FOR YOU GUYS & not me!!!

 **Oikawa:** well, partly me

 **Oikawa:** I did want to see u all again

 **Oikawa:** and yes Iwa-chan is coming

 **Oikawa:** …except I haven’t told him yet 

**Daichi:** Am I missing something 

**Bokuto:** Only Oikawa’s MASSIVE crush on Iwaizumi

 **Daichi:** No, I got that when I had dinner with the team but

 **Daichi:** What did u mean by it was “for us” … 

**Oikawa:** oh!!!!

 **Oikawa:** I mean you & your MASSIVE crush on that florist, Dai-chan!

 **Daichi:** …

 **Oikawa:** and you, Tetsu-chan!!

 **Kuroo** : shut up

 **Bokuto:** Don’t even go there I get it 

**Ushijima:** But, I don’t like anyone.

 **Oikawa:** well, nothing’s gonna work if it’s JUST THEM, is it? that’s faaarrrr too suspicious~ 

**Daichi:** Work??????

 **Bokuto:** suspicious??!????

 **Kuroo:** Oikawa Tooru avoiding calling Ushijima Wakatoshi his friend for 5 minutes straight

 **Oikawa:** you’re MEAN, Tetsu-chan!!!!!

 **Oikawa:** ANYWAY, Shou-chan kept complaining that they never had a Karasuno reunion

 **Daichi:** That’s true :/ At least we had Tanaka’s wedding, though, that was nice

 **Oikawa:** yeah yeah he said but I figured if I’ve got a house that big I might as well kill a couple of birds with one stone

 **Daichi:** Wait what

 **Bokuto:** how can u even... afford that...

 **Oikawa:** I’ll have to work out finances with Ken-chan, he knows stuff about money

 **Bokuto:** yeah, cause he’s Got It

 **Kuroo:** if, and I’m saying IF, you get him to agree to... whatever this is... he’d probably be more than happy to pitch in, I guess

 **Oikawa** : well, that’s your job~

 **Kuroo:** what

 **Oikawa:** getting him to agree!!!

 **Kuroo:** fuck my life

 **Ushijima:** So, you are actually serious about this.

 **Oikawa:** DUH!!!

 **Oikawa:** Dai-chan will have to get everyone cooperating on his end, and Kou-chan you know what to do

 **Bokuto:** I’m not sure Akaashi will even agree to this

 **Oikawa:** he will if u ask him~

 **Daichi** : And you’re going to rope in Iwaizumi

 **Oikawa:** precisely!!!

 **Oikawa:** oh, and

 **Oikawa:** tell that model friend of Kenma’s he can come along too, it’ll be less suspicious

 **Bokuto:** what are you even planning on doing that will come across as _suspicious...?!_

 **Oikawa:** mm,,

 **Oikawa:** I haven’t actually decided yet

 **Oikawa:** but you’re all in, right???

 **Kuroo** : unbelievable

Distantly, Kuroo can hear Hinata mumbling to himself about the movie, still playing on the television. It must be around three quarters of the way through now. Beside him, Bokuto wears an expression of complete and utter shock.

“What the fuck just happened?” he says, in disbelief.

Kuroo just gives him a helpless glance. “Fuck knows. But apparently we’re going on— wait, did he ever actually say _where_ _?_ ” 

Apparently, Hinata’s interests have been piqued, because he turns around with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “Who?”

Sighing, Kuroo says, “Oikawa.”

“Oikawa-san? What did he do?” Hinata’s eyes are big and round, sparkling with flecks of orange— it reminds Kuroo of Kenma, the honey gold of his irises as they stare into his own.

“Nothing!” Bokuto grins, wrapping an arm around him and ruffling up his hair. “We can never really tell what he’s up to, anyway.”

Kuroo promptly changes the subject. 

“Did Akaashi reply?” he asks.

“Oh!” Bokuto nods fervently, unlocking his phone and holding a hand out so Kuroo can see the text message that reads ‘Yes you did, Bokuto-san.’ sent two minutes ago from Akaashi Keiji.

Bokuto is absolutely glowing, though, and Kuroo can only marvel at his best friend’s ability to find happiness in so little a sentence. But then again, any compliment from Akaashi might as well be worth millions. To Bokuto, especially.

Kuroo laughs, and then he yawns again.

He leans back against the sofa, slotting himself in the corner and resting his head against a pillow. Bokuto looks over at him with a frown.

“You tired?” He tilts his head. “You can crash here if you want.”

“Yeah. I suppose I will,” Kuroo answers. “It’s getting kinda late.”

“Sleep, Tetsu,” says Bokuto, and so he does.

* * *

The first thing Kenma says to him when he walks through the door is, “How was it this time?” 

Kuroo huffs out a grumble in response, throwing his coat on the sofa and shaking his head. “Eventful,” is what he settles on, and Kenma arches a careful brow.

“How so?” he enquires, biting into his triangle of sandwich.

Ah, right. Kuroo actually has to _tell him_. That’s his job, as Oikawa had put it, and as much as he doesn’t want to come right out and say what he’s supposed to say, he does _not_ trust Oikawa to plan an entire getaway by himself. 

When Kuroo doesn’t reply, Kenma shrugs it off, gesturing to the kitchen offhandedly. “I made you lunch,” he says.

 _That_ gets a reaction. “You what?”

“I made you lunch,” Kenma repeats.

Kuroo squints. “What’s going on?” It’s so unlike Kenma to care, for lack of a better word, enough to actually go out of his way to do things for him. Kenma doesn’t often like to _do._ He likes to just _be_. 

He shrugs as if to say ‘nothing’, but he’s fidgeting, playing with his fingers in lieu of a distraction from the silence. Kuroo’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. 

“What? You’re not replacing me or something, are you?” He’s joking, of course, but there’s fear in there. He knows Kenma can tell. He always does, so the blond simply shakes his head wordlessly and makes his way into the kitchen for the plate of food. Kuroo follows him.

He’d made him rice, put the leftover soup in a little bowl alongside it on the plate. Chopped up spring onion to place on top like he was _trying_ to make it look fancy.

“Okay,” says Kuroo, narrowing his eyes, “Thank you, this is quite possibly the nicest thing you’ve done for me in months.” His tone is neither mild nor grateful, though, it’s more bordering on accusatory than anything but Kenma doesn’t seem to flinch.

“Fine. There… may be some things I want to say,” Kenma admits, begrudgingly.

“Aha! I knew it.” Kuroo is grinning like a cheshire cat, and Kenma wishes he would stop. “You can’t keep secrets from me,” he gloats in a singsong voice as he takes the plate of food in his hands, leans against the kitchen counter and begins to eat.

Kenma just rolls his eyes, forcing the sigh back down his throat and into his stomach where it whirls around unsettlingly alongside the fear that’s settled quite uncomfortably in his gut. “I wasn’t trying to,” he says, “I was just buttering you up.”

“For _what_? It can’t be that bad.” Kuroo pauses. “Can it?”

“I don’t know. Depends on your definition of bad.”

“Jesus.” Kuroo stops eating altogether, setting the plate down on the counter. “Just, like, tell me already.”

“It’s nothing important,” Kenma brushes it off so effortlessly, reading his mind with practiced ease, “Just… something that might change your opinion of me.”

“Alright. Just saying, though, nothing could do that.”

“Nothing?” he presses.

“Nothing.” Kuroo’s tone is firm, and Kenma wouldn’t say he believes him, but he thinks he believes him enough to continue.

“Not even…” A pause. “Not even if I wanted to, um—“

“Take your time.”

“I _am_.”

“I know.”

“Stop being an ass, Kuroo.”

“I’m not! I’m waiting,” he protests, looking at him expectantly, and on a normal day Kenma would probably say it was cute but he’s far too nervous to even think about it.

“I’ve been interested in, um,” Kenma’s voice is quiet, quiet _er_ , “I’ve been interested in makeup. For a while. I wanted to… try it, I guess. I don’t know why I felt like I needed to tell you, I just—“

Kuroo blinks. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean _that’s it?_ ”

“I mean, why would I ever… have a problem with that?” he asks, and he’s genuinely being serious. He wasn’t going to _tell him_ he’d wondered what Kenma would look like in lipstick before, because that’s just embarrassing. But he has, _oh_ , he has.

Kenma shifts a bit, eyes trained on the floor. “I don’t know,” is all that comes out of his mouth. Kuroo’s frown only deepens. 

“You’re silly, you know, Kenma.”

“You’re a dick.”

“I’m not,” Kuroo insists, “I’m saying you should really trust me more. So what if you wanna put stuff on your face? What’s the problem?”

“There’s… no problem, I guess.”

Kuroo reaches out to ruffle his hair, petting it lightly. Kenma scrunches his nose. He always does, it’s truly an adorable sight, but he leans into it nonetheless. He never pulls away. Never tells him to stop. Kuroo doesn’t want to stop; he’s mind-numbingly cute.

“Good,” he says, “Wanna play Mario Kart after I’m done eating?”

“You know I’ll beat you,” Kenma deadpans, and Kuroo can’t hold his laughter.

“Tch. Just you wait, kitty cat.”

“Mm, wait? Until Christmas?”

Kuroo laughs even louder. “You’re such a little shit, I hope you know that.”

A smile plays delicately on Kenma’s lips.

Kuroo drinks in the sight like he’s been parched for weeks, burns it into his memory.

* * *

For someone so hard to get in touch with, Yachi Hitoka is frightfully welcoming. Kuroo’s never really spoken to her properly before, only at hang-outs with Karasuno back in high school, so he had to pester Bokuto who had to pester _Hinata_ for her number.

The call had been awkward.

To be fair to himself, he hadn’t really known how to put ‘ _I want you to teach me about makeup so I can support my best friend who’s also my crush who’s also my— boss?’_ into words coherent enough so as to not sound like a complete nutcase.

“Come in, come in!” Yachi beams at him from inside the house. Kuroo’s still on the steps, just outside the open door.

Yachi ushers him in, and Kuroo follows, a lopsided grin on his face. He’s always been pretty good with people, but the situation is awkward; maybe he’s trying too hard. _No_ , he thinks, wrinkling his nose, _Kenma will definitely appreciate this._ At least, he hopes he will.

“It’s been a while, Yacchan,” says Kuroo, following her into the living room, where she turns on the TV and sits down on the sofa.

“It has!” she replies, fiddling just slightly with her dress; white, flowy. For a makeup artist, her everyday makeup is extremely subtle. Kuroo thinks it looks nice. Kuroo does _not_ picture Kenma in it. He does not. “But by the looks of it, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other!”

That can only mean one thing. “Ah,” Kuroo nods, “Sawamura’s spoken to you already?”

“I’m very excited! Of course, I’ll still have to, uh, post regularly on my instagram, but that’ll be alright!” Her hands are folded in her lap now. “So, we should go over what we’re doing today, Kuroo-chan.”

“Oh, totally, yeah,” he blabbers stupidly, “I don’t really know how any of it works I’m just—“

“For Kenma, right, you said,” she nods. Then there’s a pause. Kuroo watches her expression turn from mellow to horror-stricken in a matter of milliseconds. “I’m sorry, that was rude—“

“Relax,” he grins, “Lead the way.”

She looks hesitant, but Kuroo gives her a reassuring nod. “Okay, well,” she says, “I’ll give you a little crash course using some of my stuff, and then we’ll go into town and I can pick out the basics for your friend?”

Kuroo thinks it’s a pretty decent plan.

Hopefully Kenma doesn’t think he’s weird for making all this effort. He seemed pretty nervous about it when he told Kuroo in the first place— it’s just an added bonus that he’ll be more inclined to agree when Kuroo tells him about the whole holiday thing afterwards.

“Yeah, alright,” he affirms, “That sounds great.”

So, that’s exactly what they do. 

Kuroo learns all about the different brushes, how to apply what to where, different makeup products for different parts of the face, and a lot of other stuff that he tries his best to absorb. It’s quite a bit of information, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it. Yachi seems quite pleased. She gives him the proudest, happiest grin when he gets it right, and an even wider one when he says, “Kenma would look good in this colour.”

They go out to the shopping mall two hours later, picking out all the different things Kuroo thinks Kenma would love to try. Kuroo tells Yachi that Kenma likes colours based on who or what they remind him of; Yachi thinks it’s adorable. 

Kuroo agrees.

He goes home with three bags in his hands and an ear-splitting grin on his face.

“Oi!” he calls from outside their door, where Kenma’s fumbling around with the key. “I haven’t got all day!”

He can practically _hear_ Kenma’s dissatisfied huff, before the lock clicks open and Kenma is looking at him with an equally dissatisfied expression. 

“What did you do?” Kenma asks, looking down at the bags that Kuroo is currently holding. 

“No peeking, kitty cat,” Kuroo narrows his eyes as he strides on in, heading over to his room and putting the bags down on the bed. Kenma follows him. “They’re yours.”

The look he receives is one of wariness. “If I needed a sugar daddy, Kuroo, I’d tell you,” says Kenma.

Kuroo can only grin, a smirk tilting the corner of his lips slightly upwards. “Nice to know I’d be your first choice.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“ _Sure_ it isn’t.”

“It’s not.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I bought?”

Kenma squints. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Kuroo,” he sighs, sitting down in the chair by his desk, “What did you buy?”

“Oh, wait, I have to tell you something first,” Kuroo interjects, mentally kicking himself for not saying it before. If he says it afterwards, it’ll look too much like a bribe— he wishes he could claim that it was out of the goodness of his heart instead, but it _was_ partly selfish; maybe he really just wanted to see what Kenma would look like with makeup on. Maybe.

Kenma scrunches his nose in annoyance. “No,” he says. “I want to know what’s in the bags.”

Kenma always wins with such little effort.

“Fine,” sighs Kuroo, putting one of the bags on his lap and reaching into it as he says, “You were telling me that you wanted to try the whole makeup thing, and— well, I thought, since you didn’t seem to be convinced that I had no problem with it, I’d buy some things for you to try instead?” He pulls out a little eyeshadow palette; it looks tinier in his hand, but luckily he’s got more stuff. 

Kenma is silent. He looks like he’s gone into shock. He doesn’t typically know how to react to nice things being done for him, and Kuroo knows this, so he wasn’t really expecting some extravagant reaction going into it. All he wants is to know that he appreciates it.

“Oh, on one condition though,” Kuroo adds.

Kenma can’t even find it in him to narrow his eyes. “What?” he asks, softly.

“I want to put it on you.” A pause. “The makeup.”

“...Thanks for the clarification,” Kenma says dryly, “When did you even learn how to do makeup?”

“Five hours ago.” Kuroo’s voice is slightly sheepish. 

Kenma gapes. He’s quiet for a while, and his gaze keeps darting back and forth between Kuroo and the makeup in his hands. It must’ve been a good three minutes before Kenma responds with, “Okay.”

Kuroo lights up like a Christmas tree. “Fuck, yeah!” he exclaims, pulling out the set of brushes and assembling the palettes on Kenma’s desk. “Just stay where you are, I’ll do it like this.”

“You— okay, sure.”

“Right,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. He scans the contents. Kenma raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. “Okay, we’re gonna start simple, I just wanna see—“

“You are having _too much_ fun.”

“And proud, okay, we’re gonna use this… this brush is for that—“ Kuroo takes the brush, holds it in his hand, twiddles it between his fingers and settles on the typical pen-hold. “Chin up a little, I need to see better.”

Kenma raises his eyebrow again, but does as he asks, tilting his head at a slightly awkward angle. It’s not high enough to stare at the ceiling but not low enough to stare at the floor; he goes for staring at Kuroo’s t-shirt clad shoulder instead. The shirt is nice, it’s one of his more liked ones. Kenma’s, that is, Kuroo likes all his own shirts. Well, he would, wouldn’t he, Kenma thinks to himself. Then, _this is irrelevant, shut up_. 

The voice in his head shuts up.

All of a sudden, Kuroo leans closer. Kenma’s breath hitches. The voice is hyperactive, this time. Maybe he ought to call Akaashi. He knows it’s just him thinking, panicking, but he wishes he could turn it off.

He’s so _close_. Fuck.

The sensation of the brush against Kenma’s skin calms him down a little. It’s quite nice, actually, he feels as though he’s being pampered.

By Kuroo.

Damn it.

“You can close your eyes, kitty cat,” Kuroo doesn’t whisper the words. Instead, it’s something short of a low hum, rumbling from somewhere in his chest and Kenma has to hold back his shiver, willing his body not to betray him, god, not _now._

The only thing Kenma can think to do is simply as he says. So, he closes his eyes, wrings his hands tightly together in his lap in the hopes that it may serve as a nervous outlet of sorts, as it has before. The problem is, Kuroo knows him so well that he picks up on all his behavioural patterns anyway, in addition to the fact that the loss of sight now forces him to focus on every other sensation around him.

“Relax,” Kuroo says, and his voice is slightly throatier now that he’s not paying much attention to how he sounds, focusing rather on the task at hand. “ _Oh,_ that’s pretty. Okay, I’m gonna— gonna do the lids now, hang on—“

And he draws back. Kenma exhales, deeply, silently.

Meanwhile, Kuroo is dedicated to finding the correct brush for his eyeshadow. His brows are furrowed as he stares at the assortment of makeup brushes he’s laid out on the desk, thoroughly inspecting each one and trying to backtrack to what Yachi taught him.

 _Alright_ , Kuroo thinks, _it’s this one_. He picks it up, repeats the procedure of twirling it around in his hand, trying to find the perfect hold. Once again, he settles for simply holding it like he would a pen, and says, “I’m gonna kinda match your eyes to your lips, I’m drawing inspiration from Yacchan here so bear with me while I…” He trails off while he scans the colours in the eyeshadow palette.

“My lips?” Kenma asks, attempting to knock the composure back into his voice.

“Yeah, I’ve got— a bunch of stuff, but I’m still learning so we’re sticking with simple and doing glosses, is that cool?”

“Uh— sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Awesome,” Kuroo grins, dipping slightly into the colour with the brush. “Alright, close your eyes again, yeah?”

Kenma draws in a shaky breath. “Kay,” he says, and does as he’s told.

This time, the brush is ticklish, and he fights the urge to squeeze— he knows he’s not supposed to do that. He’s watched enough tutorials. The redirection of focus for him, though, proves to be efficient in quelling his panic, which he dubs as a very, very good thing.

It’s over faster this time.

Kuroo looks pleased. In fact, he _is_ pleased. Kuroo hopes to god he’s done a good enough job, but by the looks of it, it’s much more than good. Only the final touches now, he says to himself, just gotta find— ah.

He grins. “Got it!”

Kenma looks at him warily. Kuroo thinks it’s cute.

“Just the gloss,” he reassures, shifting back closer to him. Kenma looks nervous. “What’s up?”

“Um,” he says. “What do I… do?”

It takes Kuroo a while to process the question. He gets there eventually. “Oh! Just close your eyes if you want and part your lips a little,” he instructs, “it’s easier than having them closed, I tried it.”

“You tried it?”

“On Yacchan.”

“ _Oh_. I’m surprised she’d let you,” Kenma tries to cover his nerves with a crack at humour, but Kuroo knows he’s panicking inside.

“Stop stressing, you look good,” Kuroo says, placing a single bent finger against the underside of his chin, tilting it up ever so slightly to get the perfect angle. 

Kenma’s lips are parted just enough. Kuroo tries to ignore how badly he wants to kiss him, but, _oh,_ he could, couldn’t he, right now, he _could_ , he could just lean down and take him and wrap him up in his arms— Kuroo shakes his head. He can’t. He _can’t_.

With a slightly shaky hand, he applies the gloss. He was gonna do a clear one, but the pink/peach palette suits Kenma’s skin tone well, and he couldn’t resist.

“That’s good, you can—“ Kuroo starts, drawing back once again, but _oh._

_Oh my god._

Holy shit, he thinks, looking over his handiwork. It’s everything he envisioned and _more_ , because Kenma looks unbelievably pretty sitting there like that, glossy lips still parted and subtle colour gracing his cheeks, the pink dusting his eyelids ever so slightly.

Kuroo has never wanted to kiss him more in his entire life.

“What?” Kenma’s voice brings him out of his trance. He’s worried, shy.

Kuroo shakes his head. “It’s— It’s really…” He swallows. “It’s really pretty. You should look.”

So, Kenma does. There’s a mirror on the other side of his desk. He picks it up and holds it close to his face. He looks a little awestruck. Kuroo can relate, but he moves behind him quickly to take Kenma’s hair down from the little knot he’s tied it up in. It’s gotten longer now, and Kenma can’t really be bothered to go cut it, but Kuroo likes his hair long. He always has.

He combs through it with his fingers, then pushes it delicately over his shoulders to frame his face a little better. “There we go,” he says, quietly. “Do you like it?”

Kenma nods slowly, as if he’s ashamed to agree. “Yeah,” he answers. Then, turning his head to look at him, he says, “Thank you.”

Kuroo can only offer him a grin. “My pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i’ve fallen into genshin impact hell so i stopped writing for a long long time... oops. luckily, i’ve written up to chapter 17 so far, so i have a little bit of time. hopefully i can finish it by the time i get there! if you liked it, comments and kudos mean the world & motivate me so much, and if you wanna talk to me i’m xeneurotics on twitter! :D


End file.
